Stories

The hallway smells faintly of antiseptic. Rubber soles squeak on polished tile. Somewhere down the corridor a call bell chimes twice and then goes quiet again. You and your therapy dog have just arrived. He stands beside you, freshly brushed, bandanna straight, coat still carrying the clean scent of home. His tail hangs softly at… Continue reading The Yawn Before The Visit

When you see a Therapy Dog walking into a hospital, leash loose, head level, eyes soft, tail quiet, you see the calm. What you do not see is everything it took to build that calm. You do not see the mornings that began before the sun, when the world was still hushed and the air… Continue reading Therapy Dog

Today is National Golden Retriever Day, and my heart goes straight to Abby. Abby was more than a golden retriever. She was steady warmth. Quiet courage. A soft presence that knew when to lean in close without being asked. She carried light into hard rooms and left it there long after she walked out. Her… Continue reading National Golden Retriever Day

She paused at the ICU doors the way she had paused before every hard thing in their life together. Just for a breath. The hallway smelled of antiseptic and warmed plastic, clean and unforgiving. The lights hummed overhead, too bright, too steady, as if they did not understand how fragile this moment was. Inside the… Continue reading When Love Has Finished Its Work

Quinn stood beside me, his golden coat catching the late afternoon light, each strand warmed to honey. When I rested my hand against his shoulder, I felt the quiet strength beneath his fur. Solid. Steady. Alive. His body carried the soft heat of trust. The kind you do not question. The kind you earn by… Continue reading Call of The Wild

The room was dim, not dark, softened by late afternoon light slipping through half drawn curtains. The kind of light that felt respectful, as if it understood it had arrived at a private moment. The woman lay still, her breathing shallow and unhurried, each breath sounding like it had traveled a long road to get… Continue reading In Between

The room is large and softly echoing. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. Rows of chairs face the center of the space, each one holding a life shaped by memory loss. Some clients sit quietly, hands folded. Others fidget, fingers working at invisible threads. Caregivers stand close, watching, waiting. The air smells like brewed coffee, toast, and… Continue reading What Remains When Memories Go

The call came before dawn. Not loud. Not frantic. Just enough to split the quiet open. Someone was in trouble. Machines. Fluorescent light. Breath counted instead of assumed. A body holding on by will and mercy. I sat at the kitchen table afterward, hands wrapped around a warm mug, the house still wrapped in night.… Continue reading The Call

Some rooms announce themselves. This one whispered. The air was still, heavy with old memories and the faint scent of distance and time. The woman sat in a chair near the window. She did not speak. Her mouth rested closed, but her face was alive with movement. Eyes that watched everything. A jaw that tightened,… Continue reading I Felt Her Before I Saw Her

The room carried the soft scent of lemon cleaner and warmed dust, the kind of smell that never quite leaves a place where time lingers. Afternoon light spilled through the narrow window in a pale ribbon, settling on the worn quilt across her legs. The quilt looked heavy, stitched with years, its edges frayed like… Continue reading Scars